


Echoing and Unsaid

by ptork66



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptork66/pseuds/ptork66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All those words, echoing in his head and left unsaid.</p><p>Or the five times Trip nearly caught up with Malcolm, and the one time he never will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Train, Train

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smith/gifts).



> This will be six parts, updated on Saturday (BST).

Trip shivered under the layers of his coat and thermals and shoved his gloved hands into fleece-lined pockets. The helpful sign warned him that the stairs might be icy, so he made his way carefully down them. The first winter cold snap had come early.

As he came onto the platform, he glanced to the display screen to check his train time. No delays. He threaded his way through the crowd and searched for a quiet place to wait the seven minutes to his train.

The bright sun caught his eyes and he sharply jerked his head away, squinting. His gaze fell onto a familiar head of hair in the queue of people boarding the service currently at the platform. “Malcolm!” he called as he tried to push his way towards the man. “Malcolm!” He raised a hand to wave, in the hopes his once friend would hear his name and turn to look. “Malcolm!”

Malcolm stepped onto the train and started heading down a carriage.

The crowd broke, and Trip dashed towards the door Malcolm had disappeared into - but with a whistle and the annoying warning beeps they slid shut. He grit his teeth as he slammed to a halt. “Dammit!”

The platform coordinator lowered the departure signal sign, and Trip watched with clenched fists, pounding heart, and tense muscles as the train pulled out of the station and slowly gathered speed.

It was only after the train had vanished around a bend that Trip’s shoulders slumped and he fell out of his stare. He sighed heavily and, defeated, made his way to a bench at the end of the platform.


	2. Cinema

Trip finished off the whole large popcorn and large soda all by himself as he watched the latest B-movie monster flick to play in theatres. He licked his fingers satisfactorily as the credits started to roll and the lights slowly came up.

The theatre started to clear, and he gathered his trash and joined the winding line going towards the exit. He stared into space above a woman’s shoulder and tuned out the chatter of the teens behind him. His gaze meandered over the people and the place and settled on the brown hair he loved so much. He blinked. Surely not?

The man turned his head slightly, and the sight of his profile squeezed Trip’s heart. He took a deep breath. “Malcolm?” He called as loudly as he dared, just as the line began to move in earnest. He barely heard his own voice over the conversations in the crowd and the noise of the halls.

“Malcolm!”

His friend, so far ahead of him, turned left out of the doors. He willed the line to go more quickly, bouncing impatiently from foot to foot and trying to crane his neck to keep an eye on Malcolm.

But by the time he made it to that same door and could look upon the lobby, filled with so many people leaving the last shows and arriving for the next, that head of brown hair he loved so much was gone, merged into anonymity amongst the throngs.

Trip cast his eyes around the place one last time before chucking his trash into the nearest bin with more force than was strictly necessary and heading for the exit and his car. Time to head home.

Alone.

Again.


	3. Mall

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t sleep, and he felt sorry for himself. So, of course, bags under his eyes and throat aching, he headed to the mall to kill some time.

He hit his usual stores first. Retail therapy was a fine idea, but it had one downside: carrying bags.

With his arms loaded and beginning to ache, he sniffed out the food court and picked the shop with the shortest wait. He sat with his back against the heavy concrete planter of a giant lemon tree and ate his spicy pad Thai while idly people watching. The young family caught his eye. Two androgynous, heavily tattooed and pierced parents, both looking to be not a day over 19, and their babies, a toddler of about two and a half and a new baby fast asleep in a colourfully patterned Mei Tai carrier on one parent’s chest. He smiled sadly as the pair kissed and hugged their children close, and his eyes slid away to find someone else to watch.

His hunger sated and his muscles rested, he picked up his shopping and decided to wander for a little longer.

While walking the bottom level, the glittering sun coming through the overhead windows shone brightly, and he followed the floating dust. Just there, a halo of light around him, was Malcolm.

He blinked, then moved as quick as he could with his bags weighing him down. “Malcolm!”

The man continued his purposeful stroll towards the lift.

“Malcolm!”

He picked up his pace, but his shoe lace unravelled, and he tripped. “Shit, shit shit,” he muttered as he stumbled and dropped a few bags to catch his balance. His ankle twinged painfully. He winced and sat, looking for Malcolm just in time to watch the lift’s doors shut.

He bit his lip and his eyes watered. The bystander who rushed to help him took it as a sign he was injured and kindly gathered his items and called him a cab before helping him out to it.

He didn’t bother correcting him. His ankle hurt, yes, but his heart ached far more fiercely.

Suddenly, the retail therapy stopped working, and all he had was more worthless crap.

Nothing he had could fill the hole in his heart.


End file.
